


A Little Something About Bullying Fathers

by Queen_Andr0meda



Category: Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), Monty Python's Spamalot
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Past Abuse, Scar Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Andr0meda/pseuds/Queen_Andr0meda
Summary: Herbert loved Lancelot’s scars. They made him who he was.He didn’t, however, like his own scars. They were embarrassing, and most of them uprooted unhappy memories. He knew Lancelot would make him tell the tales behind them eventually, but he would try to avoid the subject for as long as possible.





	A Little Something About Bullying Fathers

Soft morning light shone through the sheer violet curtains shrouding the small castle bedchamber. In the center of the large bed lay two figures entwined in a gentle embrace. The two had been like that for several hours, preferring to revel in each other’s company rather than sleep away the morning. Prince Herbert, still frail despite his health improving since his marriage to Sir Lancelot, ran his pale hand over his husband’s tanned, muscular chest, gently tracing the raised, white scars that littered the knight’s flesh.

Both Lancelot and Herbert had earned their fair share of scars over their lives. But their origins differed greatly between the two men. Lancelot’s body was riddled with them, each one a trophy from his previous battles. Some were larger ones from his journeys as a knight of the round table, a few were small inconsequential ones from childhood fist fights. He found great joy in telling his prince the stories behind all of them, and Herbert was an excellent listener. As Lancelot wove the tapestry of each daring feat, his words filling their private chamber at Camelot, Herbert would watch him with awe and follow along with his finger, his mind filling with spectacular images. Herbert liked the stories, and would often request to hear them multiple times. It amazed him to hear about the knight’s exploits -- his knight. Or, rather, it amazed Herbert that this brave warrior he was hearing about slept right next to him every single night, clasping the young prince in his arms. 

Herbert loved Lancelot’s scars. They made him who he was.

He didn’t, however, like his own scars. They were embarrassing, and most of them uprooted unhappy memories. He knew Lancelot would make him tell the tales behind them eventually, but he would try to avoid the subject for as long as possible.  
It happened that ‘as long as possible’ turned out to be only a couple of months. They were in bed and, as usual, the early morning sun was just starting to rise, when Lance finished retelling Herbert’s favourite story for the dozenth time and turned to face his husband.

“What about you, Herbert?” He asked softly, his hand pushing Herberts long hair behind his ear.

“Hmm?” Herbert’s voice was distant, actively trying to avoid the question he knew was coming. His eyes flitted around, trying to look anywhere but Lance’s face, before finally letting them meet the serious gaze fixed on him. He tried to look coy, silently pleading for the question to not be asked. When that bore no results, he said unconvincingly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dearest.”

Lancelot sighed, taking the other man’s face in his hands and gently stroking his cheek. “It seems like we’ve spent our whole marriage talking about me. I feel as though I barely know a thing about you.”

“I like talking about you, Lancey” Herbert’s sweet smile was genuine, and he extended the sing-songy nickname in a way that always made Lancelot weak, but the knight didn’t let it deter him.

“We’ve talked through just about everything there is to know about me, catalogued each of my battle scars. Now I want to learn about yours.” 

Herbert caved. There was something about the way Lancelot looked at him that made his heart melt in his chest. Lancey made a point, how could they grow closer if Herbert remained a stranger to the knight. He gulped nervously, as he sat up and searched his body for the right story to begin with.

First, Herbert showed Lancelot several small scars. He had been a clumsy child, so there were plenty of lasting scrapes from childhood accidents. There were several oddly shaped scars on his forearms from when the doctors bled him during several cases of fever during the duration of his youth. He talked about the constellation of smallpox scars on his back and torso, a few creeping onto his arms and face. 

Lancelot was enraptured, never had he heard Herbert talk so uninhibitedly. Usually he kept quiet and didn’t share too much. This was a product of his upbringing, which he was desperate not to have to impart on his husband.

The Prince pointed out a large scar just below his right knee from when he accidentally fell down the tower stairs back at Swamp Castle at age eleven. Then there was the even larger scar on the left side of his hip from when his father intentionally pushed him down the tower stairs back at Swamp Castle at age thirteen. Herbert showed his husband several more smaller, but still equally painful ones, courtesy of his own father, remnants of lacerations from beatings, and one instance with a red-hot poker. As he recounted these painful memories, Herbert’s already trembling voice began to crack, a involuntary tear or two falling down his cheek. Lancelot reached up and wiped away the tears with his thumb, placing a large and comforting hand on Herbert’s knee. After all, Lancelot was not a stranger to bullying fathers; and he had made sure that Herbert’s father would never harm his son ever again.

When he was sure the Prince had finished his story, Lancelot said nothing and instead started placing soft, gentle kisses on each of Herbert’s scars, one by one. He made sure each one received an equal share of love. Love that was so evidently missing from Herbert’s childhood. Herbert was shocked, the tears flowing freely with the careful ministrations of his knight. Minutes passed and finally, taking Herbert’s face in his hands, Lancelot planted one last, long kiss to his husband’s lips.

Leaning their foreheads together, Lance broke the silence and whispered, “I will not let you get hurt again, Herbert, I love you.”

Herbert smiled through his persistent tears -- happy tears now. “I love you too, Lancey. My knight in shining armor.” 

Lancelot loved Herbert’s scars. They made him who he was. And, for once, Herbert thought that maybe he could grow to love them too.


End file.
